The forward from the
book Walker RN by Terrence Robertson, now out of print, by Admiral Sir
Alexander Madden, K.G.B., C.B.E., R.X.

CAPTAIN FREDERICK JOHN WALKER, ROYAL NAVY, was a
forthright and practical man—full of faith and action in every thing he
undertook, We happened to be serving together at the time when he heard
that he had not been selected for promotion to captain. He suffered great
disappointment: but he met this problem without visible distress and in
the same uncompromising way that lie met—and overcame—all problems in his
naval career. I feel sure that his countless naval friends would wish me
to record our joy—for it was nothing less than that—when his superlative
work was, later, regarded with total acclaim. This book illumines his
remarkable character and personality. To those in the Royal Navy who, like
myself, were privileged to know him well, there seemed to be nothing
missing from his armoury of qualities; he was a high-principled,
courageous, modest and kindly naval officer, who looked exactly what he
was—an outstanding leader of men. It would be an impertinence for me to
try to add to the great tributes paid to him by famous war leaders. But as
a contemporary of his, I am indeed happy to have this chance of recalling
the deep admiration and affection in which, over many years, I held this
unforgettable youth and man. His place in naval history is assured.
Plymouth, 1956

INTRODUCTION

For five and a half years the Battle of the Atlantic raged with ruthless
and varying intensity—”the most protracted and bitterly fought campaign in
which the British Empire and her Allies have ever been engaged”.’ On its
outcome depended our power to continue the war even on the defensive; our
ability to provide raw materials for war production; arms, ammunition and
reinforcements for our armies in Burma, Africa, Italy and, later,
Normandy; fuel, planes and bombs for the great air offensive against the
Reich itself food and clothing for the Home Front. In the beginning, the
U-boat captains held the initiative. Brilliantly directed by Admiral Karl
Doenitz, they took a heavy toll of our shipping. Of the 21 million tons of
Allied shipping, totalling more than 4,500 ships, lost during the war, 15
million tons, or 2,775 ships, were sunk by U-boats. The Allies retaliated
by “killing” 781 German U-boats, the Royal Navy and R.A.F. Coastal Command
aircraft being responsible for the destruction of 8o per cent. Until the
very end the U-boat Arm fought with discipline and efficiency. There was
no relaxation of effort, no hesitation to incur risks. On the very night
of Germany’s surrender they sank three ships on our doorstep, two merchant
ships in the Firth of Forth and a minesweeper in Lyme Bay. At a time when
this offensive spirit was at its peak and the U-boats had launched their
major attacks, the fears of the War Cabinet were reflected in the
Operations Room at the Admiralty where a large graph occupied nearly one
wall. It was divided near the top by a thin red line—a permanent measure
of the narrow gap between victory and defeat. While the rate of sinking's
at sea stayed below the line, Britain could survive and fight; once it
went above, we could not stay in the war and there would have been only
one decision to make. How to surrender with honour? For many anxious
months during the first four years of the war the graph nudged dangerously
against the red line, providing staff officers with a cold, mathematical
mirror of the struggle on the heaving, flaming waters of the Atlantic
battlefield. Then the gap began to widen, almost imperceptibly at first,
but at a quickening rate until it became certain that the battle had
passed its peak, and the graph was now sliding downwards to statistical
safety. There was nothing accidental about this; no strange fortune of
war, no inexplicable blunder on the part of the enemy. It was the direct
result of the new offensive tactics of the Navy’s “little ships” largely
inspired by the brilliant exploits and untiring efforts of one man who,
according to the Admiralty, “did more to free the Atlantic of the U-boat
menace than any other single officer”.

This was the late
Captain Frederick John Walker, R.N., Companion of the Order of the Bath and
holder of the DSO and three Bars—the second naval officer to earn this
high award four times. “Johnnie” Walker possessed probably more than a
normal share of two great gifts—faith and curiosity; not the faith of mere
credulity, nor the curiosity expressed by a turn of the neck, but each
requiring the highest form of courage. If Walker’s character had not
included the curiosity to find out how to combat U-boats, and the faith to
carry into effect his own ideas, the Atlantic battle would certainly have
been pro longed and might have taken a very different course. This is
implied in an Admiralty communiqué issued in 1950, five and a half years
after his death, which listed the Navy’s greatest wartime achievements.
“Captain Walker, more than any other, won the Battle of the
Atlantic. His methods had amazing success and more than any other factor
gave the Royal Navy supremacy. It is only now that we have learned the
full impact he had on the enemy. No tribute could be too high for the work
he carried out. This ace killer of submarines not only showed what mastery
in this art could do, but by his example infected all those others
concerned with him in this business with the same enthusiasm. “His death
was directly attributable to the overstrain which he suffered in
setting that admirable example.” Today, memories of Walker and his
striking force are undimmed by time. To those who knew him best, close
friends, relatives and brother officers, he is still vividly alive, and I
am deeply grateful to them all for their kind assistance given so readily
in spite of some memories being as painful as many more were gay and
exciting.

In addition to Mrs.
Walker, who gave me so much of her time and allowed me full use of her
late husband’s documents and photographs, I must express particular
gratitude to Admiral of the Fleet, Sir George Greasy, Commander-in-Chief;
Portsmouth; the late Admiral Sir Percy Noble, former Commander-in-Chief,
Western Approaches; Captain E. Hastle-Hurst R.N. (Retd.); Captain Donald
Maclntyre, R.N. (Retd.); Captain P. J. Cooper, R.N. (Retd.); Captain W. B.
Walker R.N. (Retd.); Commander D. E. G. Wemyss, R.N. (Retd.), for
permission to refer to his book Walker’s Groups in the Western Approaches
published by the Liverpool Daily Post and Echo; Mrs. Georgina Forbes,
Captain Walker’s eldest sister; Lieutenant Commander J. S. Filleul, R.N.;
Lieutenant H. W. F. Johnson, R.N.V.R. and Lieutenant Alan Burn, RN who
unselfishly allowed me full use of his own unpublished memoirs on which he
toiled for many years in the hope that one day they would appear as a
tribute to his late captain. Those members of the Admiralty who devoted so
much time to ensure that necessary documents were at all times available
to me, Mr. C. H. Hurford, Miss D.Johnson and their colleagues in the
Historical Section; Mr. I. Jerome, of the Department of Naval Information;
Mr. Elmers, Chief of the Records Office; Commander M. C. Saunders R.N. (Retd.),
head of the Foreign Documents Section; Mr. E. Thompson, of the Scrutiny
Section and Mr. W. Parry of the Photographic Library. I must express
particular gratitude to Their Lordships of the Board of Admiralty for
their ready consent that I should receive full facilities for the
inspection of documents.

CHAPTER ONE - EARLY YEARS

MR. MIDSHIPMAN FREDERICK JOHN WALKER, R.N., former King’s Medallist at the
Royal Naval College, Dartmouth, contemporary of the late King George VI,
and lately star cadet in the training ship H.M.S. Cornwall, walked across
the gangway from the pier at Plymouth and boarded the battleship H.M.S.
Ajax. It was a glorious June day in 1914 and the gold- lacquered buttons
on his midshipman’s patches gleamed as he saluted the quarter-deck,
reported to the Officer of the Day and joined his first Gunroom Mess. The
next day, Ajax left harbour and sailed for Scapa Flow to serve with the
Second Battle Squadron of the Grand Fleet. Mr. Midshipman Walker, aged
eighteen to the month, had gone to war. He joined Ajax with a formidable
background of high marks for his courses as a cadet. Captain Hodges, the
strict but fair- minded commanding officer of the training cruiser, had
passed him out with a “Very Good” for engineering, navigation, pilotage,
gunnery, torpedo and electrical work and then spoiled the report somewhat
by awarding only a “Good” for seamanship. But he made up for it by
rounding off the training period with a report, which said: “He has shown
good attention to his work and his conduct has been very good.” This was
no mean tribute, as “V.G.” is the highest award possible during this part
of a young officer’s career. This brilliance in theoretical naval
education—he had passed out top of his class at Dartmouth—was matched by
natural qualities of leadership. He could pass an examination without
apparent effort; as Cadet Captain, he could control a class of rowdy
cadets who had a healthy respect for his ability in the boxing ring and on
the rugger field. His father, Captain Frederic Murray Walker, R.N., was
astonished at this record, for Johnnie, the second son in a family of
three brothers and four sisters, had until the age of ten or eleven shown
less favourable tendencies. When on holiday he would burst into tears if
school were mentioned or when the time came to return.
Dartmouth had knocked any tendency to tears out of him, and he had found
it a waste of time trying to be too tough with boys quite capable of
looking after themselves. In Ajax the fact that there was a war on was in
no way allowed to interfere with the next stage to be faced by all “Snotties”.
By the time promotion grew near lie had earned the maximum number of marks
and, in addition, was four times credited with being a “clever, reliable
and hard-working officer”. In the spring of 1915, Eilleen Stobart, the
attractive, dark- haired young daughter of a well-known North Country
family, sat with her cousin, Melissa Laurence, in their home at Etherley,
Co. Durham, knitting for friends in the Services. Melissa’s pair of
mittens was to be sent to her brother Guy, then a midshipman in Ajax,
while Eilleen was not sure who should become the proud owner of her pair
of socks. Suddenly, she exclaimed: “Melissa, you know that midshipman
called Johnnie Walker who Guy is always talking about, the tall one who
did so well at Dartmouth. . . . We saw him at a dance at the Darwins, but
Guy wouldn’t introduce him to mc because he said Walker wouldn’t want to
be bothered with a flapper? Let’s send him our knitting. He’s in Ajax now.
And it will spike Guy’s guns for being so boring at the dance.”
Melissa fell in with the idea and, some days later, on board Ajax an
enraged and somewhat embarrassed midshipman drew Walker to one side in the
Gunroom and said: “There’s a parcel addressed to you from an awful cousin
of mine. I shouldn’t take the slightest notice of it if I were you.” But
Johnnie felt differently, and after he had opened the parcel a cautious
correspondence sprang up between Etherley and the various ports round
Britain called at by Ajax. In January, 1916, he was promoted to
sub-lieutenant and in June transferred to a smaller ship, H.M.S. Mermaid,
then based at Dover. This was his chance. Eilleen received a letter
suggesting that, as he would soon be able to spend a day in London, she
might care to join him. She wangled permission to visit friends in London
and they met one afternoon for tea at Rumpelmayers.

Several large cream buns vanished before
they overcame mutual shyness sufficiently for Johnnie to suggest an
evening out. Eilleen would have been furious if he hadn’t, and they dined
at the Savoy, saw a show afterwards and Johnnie reluctantly caught the
last train to Dover. A few days later, he spent a short leave at Etherley
during which the young lovers sought to escape the family by sitting
hidden in the strawberry bed with Eilleen’s Siamese cat acting as a
disinterested “gooseberry”. After two or three further meetings, they
became unofficially and most secretly engaged. Until then, Eileen had been
in no particular hurry to marry, but she found in the tall, athletic,
six-foot-odd sub-lieutenant with the wide shoulders, rather gaunt face and
crinkly, dark brown hair, a boyish charm utterly lacking in her other boy
friends. He was shy without being timid, straightforward and reserved
without being dull. Above all, he was quite obviously and deeply in love
with her. The engagement had to be kept quiet as tentative soundings on
the depths of her father’s feelings on naval officers as potential
sons-in-law found bottom rapidly when he declared that Eilleen was too
young to marry; so was Johnnie, and a sub-lieutenant’s pay was barely
enough for one soul, let alone to sustain a wife and possibly a family.
The romance continued undaunted but under cover.
Johnnie had been moved again, this time to the destroyer Sarpedon, and
with him went a reputation for being a young officer of set convictions
which he stubbornly refused to discard. This had not been an asset in big
ships, where there were far too many people all willing to argue and very
much senior. Captain Walker had said of his second son: “That boy will
argue the hind leg off a donkey.” This was not always wise if the “donkey”
were senior enough to put an indifferent note into a sub-lieutenant’s
confidential report. Johnnie joined Sarpedon with relief—from now on the
Navy for him would consist of nothing but destroyers, nothing larger or
smaller. Their Lordships had other ideas. Sub-lieutenant Walker was
completely happy in Sarpedon. She was employed in screening the Grand
Fleet against sub marine attack, and this provided him with a new interest
in anti-submarine warfare, a subject that was to absorb and fascinate him
for the remainder of his life. While still in this destroyer he was promoted
to lieutenant and, reinforced by the extra wealth from the second stripe,
he persuaded Eilleen to bring their romance to the surface in the hope
that her family would refrain from torpedoing it out of hand. His own
father, who had been recalled to duty for the duration, had been sent home
on indefinite sick leave and raised no objections to the proposed
marriage. Neither did Eilleen’s father, though what had happened between
1916 and 1918 to alter the position escaped them both. Even on a
lieutenant’s pay they could only look forward to a meagre time. Mr.
Stobart did, however, qualify his blessing by telling a friend: “Two silly
young fools, I think. Both have got comfortable homes. Why the hell do
they want to leave them?”

For John, the homeless wanderings of a sailor
were no new experience. His mother, four sisters, two brothers and himself
had moved about regularly, packing and unpacking according to the
movements of their father. He had been born in Ply mouth and then moved to
a variety of towns stretching from the South Coast to Scotland; of these,
they stayed longest in Milford-on-Sea and Bath, which became their last
home town as a family. Then, not long before the wedding, Captain Walker’s
illness became serious and, while being nursed by his wife in Bath, he
collapsed and died. However, the Walker family was contributing two-thirds
of its sons to the Navy; for John’s elder brother was now Lieutenant
William Baggot Walker, R.N., (who later married Eileen's sister)
and the youngest had also tried to enter, only to be turned down because
his eyesight was too weak. They married with Bill Walker as best man and,
after a brief honeymoon at Bournemouth, Eilleen settled down to the
nomadic life of a naval officer’s wife. In the first year they stayed
nowhere long enough to set up a home. While John returned for a spell in
big ships as a watchkeeper in the battle ship, Valiant, Eilleen moved
around, leaving behind a dismal trail of hotel rooms and flats. But they
were supremely happy and, like all young lovers, completely confident of
the future. With John at sea, Eilleen stayed for a while with his mother
in Bath. It was here on March 22nd, 1920, that she gave birth to their
first child, Timothy. During his next leave, John told his wife of
his impatience with the strict discipline and social life that was a
normal part of battleship routine and confessed he was trying to have
himself transferred back to destroyers. He was still keen on learning more
about anti-submarine tactics and had decided that, if he specialised in
this field, he would greatly enhance his chances of serving in small
anti-submarine ships, which he would also like. The few shillings a day
“specialist’s allowance” was a further attraction. He volunteered for a
new and special course at Portland naval base where a school of
anti-submarine warfare had been recently established, called H.M.S.
Osprey. A year later, his request for transfer was accepted and he left
Valiant for Portland to begin his technical courses on secret equipment
prior to becoming a specialist. During the next four years Lieutenant and Mrs.
Walker managed to establish a temporary base in adjacent Weymouth, not
daring to make it too permanent in case sailing orders arrived. Ready
money was an urgent problem indeed, and some times Johnnie was forced to
look around for something to sell. On one occasion when he was in
Portsmouth and Eilleen in Weymouth, there was the chance of a week-end
together. Eilleen counted up the housekeeping and decided she would have
to stay in Weymouth. Johnnie discovered he had seven and sixpence to spare
after paying his mess bill, hardly enough for a week-end with his family.
His eyes strayed to an expensive- looking travelling clock they had
received as a wedding present. He would pawn it first it needed repairing.
He took it to a watchmaker and, on the eve of his free week-end, collected
the clock, instructed the shop to send the bill on to him, and marched
straight round to a pawnshop. He hoped for twenty- five bob, perhaps two
pounds. The pawnbroker offered seven and six. Argument was useless, it was
seven and six or nothing. John pocketed the three half crowns ruefully. It
would be enough to reach Weymouth. But the following morning the repair
bill arrived. He had expected it to be two or three shillings at the most.
It cost the enormous sum of twelve and sixpence. John fingered the fifteen
shillings in his pocket. Later in the day, he paid the bill and wired
Eilleen that he was staying in Portsmouth minus clock and with five
shillings less than when he had first thought of pawning it.
It was characteristic of the young couple that, although frequently hard
up, they were never in debt. Johnnie would draw his last penny from the
bank to buy Eilleen some un expected gift, but kept a tight rein on bills.
He never worried about money; when it was short he would say—”Everything
will turn out all right”—and it always did.

The Walker trio, father, mother and son,
matured and learned to cope with recurrent minor financial crises. Father,
always an individualist, acquired the reputation of being an outspoken
critic of instruction he considered ill-advised or based on wrong
precepts. Yet he was a popular figure at Osprey and regarded as one of the
few pioneer experts in the developing art of tactical defence and attack
against an underwater enemy. Mrs. Walker increased her authority over all
things domestic by giving birth in 1924 to a second son, Nicholas, and a
year later to their first daughter, Gillian. But the years ashore made Walker restless,
even promotion to lieutenant-commander failing to induce him to settle
down in his career. For many long hours, he discussed with his wife the
attractive possibility of leaving the Navy and finding a more lucrative
job in civilian life while they were both young. When he said that the
Navy in peacetime was “not my cup of tea” he really meant it. He had
enormous energy and an equally vast capacity for sheer hard work, but the
Navy had returned to its pre-war role of providing a salty atmosphere in
society ashore. Overshadowing this frustrating state of
affairs was Walker’s awareness that a healthy and growing family would tax
his income to the limit. He was a family man and hated to think that the
number of children he might enjoy could be limited by naval pay. For a
long time he toyed with the possibility of seeing how much further his
economy would stretch outside the Navy. Eilleen, however, knew he would
never really be happy outside the Service and gently opposed his most
determined decisions to make a change. He burned away most of this excess
energy in gardening, hockey, swimming and boxing, if and when someone at
Osprey was brash enough to suggest a round or two in the gym. He had given
up rugger, although he might easily have played for the Navy, but was
still a nimble middleweight with a powerful punch in both fists. But his
speed, offensive spirit and individuality emerged best on the hockey field
where he played himself into the Dorset county eleven and would have been
selected for the West of England team but for a capricious Appointments
Branch of the Admiralty who decided at that moment to send him back to
sea.

Eilleen and Capt Walker in Liverpool

Further thoughts of leaving the Navy were
pushed aside, and he left Portland to serve for the next five years in the
battleships Revenge, Nelson and Queen Elizabeth as Fleet Anti Submarine
Officer of the Atlantic and Mediterranean fleets. This period in what he
regarded as floating parade grounds where no one from admirals downward
seemed to care much about submarines or their antidotes, was punctuated by
continual but fruitless efforts to have himself transferred back to
destroyers. The only bright spot came in the Mediterranean when he out
pointed a mountainous sailor to become unofficial middleweight champion of
the Fleet. Although a brilliant future had been predicted
for him at Dartmouth, Walker came face to face with the sudden realisation
that he had entered the zone for promotion to commander, passed through
most of it and had only a few months left before he would become “passed
over”, as a Lieutenant Commander. Not even a “brass-hat” to show for all
that early promise. He tackled his senior officers, finally reaching the
Commander-in-Chief, Mediterranean, whose reply was hardly encouraging.
But, not long afterwards, he received the third ring of a commander with
an appointment to take command of the destroyer, Shikari, “brain” of the
Navy’s first radio-controlled gunnery target ship, Centurion. The Navy had
never looked better to Commander Walker. His ship was equipped with the
latest asdic and other anti-submarine devices. At home, the extra pay made
him feel almost affluent. This device enabled surface ships to detect
submerged submarines. It sent out sound waves underwater which produced a
distinctive “ping” or echo, if they hit metallic objects. As it also
produced echoes from shoals of fish, wrecks and confused whirlpools of
water, the operator had to be highly trained to distinguish the
difference.

Unfortunately, the Shikari days ended all too
soon and six months later he learned with dismay that he was to be sent to
the China Station to take command of the sloop, Falmouth, also used by the
Commander-in-Chief, Far Eastern Fleet, as his personal yacht. He remarked
tersely to his wife “I know I’m not cut out for that job.” Before leaving
for China, Eilleen took a personal step she had been considering for some
time. Since childhood, religion had meant much to her, and one of
Johnnie’s attractions had been his belief not only in God, but in going to
church. When ashore he attended services every Sunday. Now Eilleen decided
to become a Catholic. To remain an Anglican, feeling as she did, would
have been to live a lie and she refused to do this even for the sake of
husband and family. Johnnie, eminently fair-minded, put no obstacles in
her way, although he preferred to remain in his own religion. Eilleen’s
conversion was carried out smoothly. On the question of the children,
Johnnie was decisive. They were to be allowed to choose for themselves
when they were old enough and, until then, would remain in the Anglican
Church in which they had been brought up. In return, he agreed that,
should they ever have another child, he should be raised as a Catholic. On
Sundays, they walked up the road together, each to go to their respective
churches; often, if Johnnie arrived in a port before Eilleen, he would
hunt out her church and note the times of Services for her. Not long
afterwards, he left England for China, an interlude in his career which
placed the first black mark against his name in the files of the
Admiralty.

CHAPTER 2 - NEARLY A FAILURE

IN the years between his arrival at Dartmouth
as a boy and the receipt of his orders to proceed to China, Johnnie Walker
had not put a foot wrong in the Service. In spite of managing to scrape
through to commander only just before the promotion zone passed, his
personal record at the Admiralty was good, and it was likely that he would
receive promotion at the normal rate, perhaps to Flag rank. But from the
time he joined the Far Eastern Fleet dubious reports on his suitability
for senior rank were to be written into an otherwise impeccable record.
When the Fleet moved from one part of the China station to another,
Johnnie clashed with his superiors. Always outspoken and inclined to put
his case with considerable forcefulness, he failed to show the necessary
tact in those social duties which go with the command of the Admiral’s
yacht. When his two years’ service abroad were up and he returned to
England, adverse reports from a senior officer had already reached London.
He was glad to be back. Eilleen had fallen ill in China and he was anxious
to have her examined by London specialists. The result was that she
underwent two major operations, while Johnnie was sent to Greenwich for a
senior officer’s course. Meanwhile, Timmy, as the family called him, had
won a scholarship to Eton and, while there, prepared to enter the Catholic
Church. He was only sixteen and Johnnie had not intended his children to
choose for themselves at such an early age. However, in the face of the
boy’s determination, he gave his consent and allowed him to have
instruction. As quiet, blunt and forthright as his father, Timothy was
received into the Church in July, 1936 and later accepted for the priest
hood. Walker had now received his next appointment, as second in-command
of the battleship Valiant. Despite his refusal in China to bow to what he
regarded as the whims of higher authorities, the harsh reports on him had
not been sufficient in themselves seriously to affect his career. But
while in Valiant there came another clash of personalities which led to
one more adverse report. In recent years, a great change had taken
place in Walker; from a home-loving boy he had become a gifted scholar and
hero to his classmates; and now the young naval officer had grown into a
mature, somewhat serious-minded father and deeply devoted husband. Gone
were the youthful days of early marriage when gay cocktail parties with
his young wife had been accompanied by occasional visits to the
pawnbroker’s. They were replaced by a supreme contentment only to be found
when at home playing with the children and in peaceful evenings with
Eilleen. His family possessed him and he was only too willing to be
possessed. This was encouraged, perhaps, by the Admiralty’s persistent
refusal to appoint him to the small ships he liked, sending him instead to
one big ship after another.

He had developed a tolerant understanding of the problems and worries
besetting officers who were following the modern trend of marrying while
young and accepting the challenge of making ends meet on Service pay. He
had been through it himself and could now draw upon his own experience and
happiness when giving advice. It used to be and to some extent still is an
accepted naval maxim that a career officer can have only one wife, the
Navy; if he takes another she must be relegated to second place. Walker
came up against this in Valiant. The commander of a battleship has one of
the most arduous, responsible and absorbing jobs the Navy can offer. If
the captain is the king, then the commander, as the senior executive
officer, is his prime minister. He controls the lives of nearly two
thousand men; administers their duties, their leaves and their pay; he
cares for their health, punishes their sins, rewards their virtues, helps
those in trouble and maintains sanity in conditions often suitable to the
breeding of abnormality. He is responsible to the captain for the training
of officers and men and the fighting efficiency and cleanliness of the
ship. Round the clock, he is the buffer between the captain and his
subject community. On top of all this, he must be ready at an instant’s
notice to take overall command should the captain fall sick, wounded or
dead.
Johnnie Walker performed his duties in Valiant adequately. She was as good
as any ship of the line in the Fleet, no better and no worse. This seemed
to irritate her captain who relied, understandably, on his commander to
pull that extra effort from the crew to make her that little bit smarter,
with just that fine shade of efficiency which carries the stamp of a keen,
untiring executive officer. Sharp words were exchanged at frequent
intervals and Johnnie would return to his cabin to find solace in writing
letters to Eilleen and the children. He wrote every evening and in one
letter said: “I don’t think there is the vaguest chance of my being
promoted out of this ship.” Yet had anyone suggested that by allowing his
wife to occupy first place in his thoughts he had excluded the Navy to a
dangerous degree and was, perhaps, not quite producing that little extra
effort required of him, he would either have laughed aloud or angrily
refuted the charge.
However, the painful fact remained that his captain was married to the
Navy in the traditional sense while he was married to Eilleen. Neither
officer, with the best will on both sides, could do much to avoid the
final encounter. When Walker left Valiant early in 1937, he knew
that more criticisms of his ability had reached the Admiralty; in fact,
one confidential report described him as “lacking powers of leadership”.
This was a damning judgment when he was entering the zone of promotion to
captain. It gave the lie to the natural qualities of leadership he had
displayed at Dart mouth and rankled because he felt that, left alone in
small ships, he could make as good a leader as anyone. Yet there was some
justification for discrediting him, just as there was reason enough for
him to feel that his efforts in Valiant had not been fairly valued. Had
the Admiralty thought fit to give him a small ship then, his career might
have taken a different course, but one appointment after another to big
ships had frustrated his sense of adventure and deadened ambition. If he
turned to his marriage as the only star in his life one can hardly blame
him.

Once he had left Valiant all grievances vanished. What was done was
finished, and he no longer worried about it. He was disappointed at not
being promoted out of the battleship and it began to look as though he
would never reach the rank of captain. With a wife and three children, it
would have been quite natural for him to worry about the future; instead,
he was content to let matters take their course, confident that he could
always earn a living outside the Service. When Eilleen raised the matter
sometimes he would pat her shoulder, and mutter his formula for
everything: “It will all turn out all right, don’t you worry.” In the
spring of 1937, he returned to Portsmouth to become commander of the
Anti-Submarine Warfare School, H.M.S. Osprey. This was work he liked, but
there was an ominous cloud in the sky. It was becoming increasingly
obvious to the pioneers of this form of warfare that the majority of
senior officers regarded their work as necessary but not of high
importance. Other branches of the Service offered more glamour, and it
seemed likely that the anti-submarine specialists might easily be
overlooked for promotion—another signpost which Walker merely ignored. In
September, Timmy left Eton to join the English College in Rome for
preliminary training as a priest, while his father plunged into his work
at Osprey with one ear attuned to the war drums sounding across the
Channel on the borders of Germany. He discussed the possible outcome of a
war and revealed weak powers of prophecy. “I think,” said Eilleen, “that
if the war lasts long enough someone will build an atom bomb. That will be
terrible.” “Oh, forget that,” replied Johnnie amiably. “They haven’t
reached any thing like that stage yet.” Those were good days for the
Walkers, among the happiest Eilleen can remember. They had a house called
“The Four Winds” which the children adored because it had a tennis court,
though they spent most of their time fishing from a nearby stone pier,
catching slimy creatures which father and mother then had to eat. On one
sunny afternoon, while Johnnie was gardening, Gillian turned the hose on
him and then wilted under a paternal broadside. She promptly christened
her father “Beetroot”, because “his face went all red and he shouted at me
in a gunnery voice”. The nickname stuck to the end. Not long afterwards
Johnnie bought his first car, very old and dilapidated, but still mobile.
Before going to Dorchester one day for his driving test, Nicholas, who had
silently observed ns father’s driving for several days, asked anxiously if
he thought he would pass. “Of course,” replied Johnnie, a little coldly.
“If I can drive a destroyer, I can drive a bloody car.” The family kept
tactfully out of the way an hour or so later when he returned to confess
that, after an argument with the examiner on the necessity of using hand
signals, indicators or both, he had been failed. By the end of 1938,
Commander Walker knew he had not been selected for promotion and had
joined the ranks of those who, for a variety of reasons, had been “passed
over”. In peacetime, these officers can either elect to remain in the
Service at their existing rank until reaching maximum retiring age, or
retire at the first opportunity, thereby gaining a small pension while
still young enough to supplement it by employment in “Civvy Street”. In
wartime, however, “passed over” officers were often called upon to fill
posts of importance and in many cases they did so brilliantly. As if in
compensation, Eilleen gave birth in March, ‘939, to a third son whom they
named Andrew. In Osprey Walker insisted that the U-boat
menace would soon become the key to Britain’s defence and power to attack.
No matter what the beliefs of higher authorities, he urged the commanding
officer of the school to press his view on the Admiralty. Whether this was
done is not known, but his next appointment was one of the most important
in the Navy’s and-submarine defence system. He became Staff Officer
(Operations) on the staff of Vice-Admiral Ramsey at Dover with overall
responsibility for the Command’s anti-submarine defences. With the B.E.F.
in France, freedom of movement in the Channel was vital for the supply
lines. It was also essential to deny use of the Channel to U-boats moving
from the German of Kiel, Bremen and Wilhelmshaven into the Atlantic. By
forcing them to take the northern route round the Orkneys, we could make
them use more fuel on their outward and inward voyages which meant less
time on Atlantic patrols against our convoys.

Therefore, the closing of the Dover - Calais
door in the face of Doenitz was the task of a highly- trained specialist.
Walker himself was disappointed at the appointment. Although it lifted him
from the list of the “virtually unemployed” and gave him an active, key
role in the front line of events, he would have preferred command of a
small ship. They had moved most of their belongings and furniture into
store at Weymouth and taken a furnished house in Dover, when a letter
arrived for Johnnie from Timmy, who had been in Rome for the past two
years. It was a remarkable letter, laying bare the mental agony of a boy,
then nineteen, who had given himself to his faith at a time when his
country had gone to war. He now sought advice and guidance from his
father. After explaining that he was not free to return and fight as he
chose, Timmy said he had talked the matter over with his rector and that,
as a Church student, he would have first to obtain the permission of
Cardinal Hinsley, Archbishop of Westminster, before joining up for the
duration.

Timothy Walker

“As far as my personal inclinations are
concerned,” he wrote, “I would much rather fight than stay here. To go on
with my ordinary work while England is at war would involve deep
mortification and require far greater courage. But I am determined not to
act upon inclination, but to try simply to find out what is right. “The
reasons which urge me to fight are too obvious to be expounded at length.
It is a conflict in which everything which has any claim on my loyalty is
involved—Church, Country and civilisation itself. “The reasons against it
are such that I must ask you to adjudge them with that appreciation of my
position as a Catholic which you have hitherto so generously shown. I have
already said that the Church disapproves of it. The reason is that the
vocation to priesthood is the highest of all vocations, higher even than
the vocation to fight for your country and it is more important, not only
for the Church but also for England to have good priests rather than to
have good soldiers or sailors. “To leave the Church even for a few years to
fight for a cause, however just, unless a number of Church students were
so great as to make a vital difference, which it is not, would be to prefer
the gratification of a romantic impulse to doing my real duty to my
Country and my Church—a most un-English thing to do. Before coming to a
final conclusion I want you to tell me what in your opinion it is my duty
to do. Because you probably do not want to influence my decision I must
make it clear I am determined not to be influenced. I realise that I alone
am responsible before my Church and my Country and cannot shift it on to
anyone else.” Walker replied at once that Timmy was to stay in Rome, but
should there ever come a time when England would need every able-bodied
man, then he would write and say so. It would be up to his son to make his
own decision. There, the matter rested. International developments took a hand. Italy
attacked France, and the English College in Rome was disbanded for the
duration, the English students returning home by sea to wait until the
College could find suitable accommodation to re open in England. Timothy
joined his mother and father in Dover and, throughout the evacuation of
Dunkirk, worked as a stretcher-bearer at Dover Hospital. The English
College re-opened in the Lake District and Timothy left Dover to resume
his studies. But, shortly after wards, his father sent the promised
letter. In Johnnie’s opinion, the time had come when every fit man was
needed to fight the war. Timothy obtained his rector’s consent to write to
Cardinal Hinsley asking for permission to suspend his studies for the
priesthood until the end of the war, in order to join one of the Fighting
Services. There was no delay in the reply. It came almost at once.

MY DEAR MR. WALKER, Your letter shows you have
a thoroughly Catholic and patriotic disposition. I agree that you should
join one of the Fighting Services. It is sad and deplorable that you
should have to interrupt your studies. But you will probably come out of
the ordeal a stronger man and by God’s grace, make a more useful priest. I
do not think you can oppose your father’s wish. My heartfelt Blessing,
Yours devotedly in Christ, A. CARDINAL HINSLEY.

Timothy packed his bags, caught a train to
London and joined the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve as an ordinary seaman.
With young Nicholas already at Dartmouth, the Walkers could be proud of
their Sons.

CHAPTER 3 - WAR COMMAND

The struggle to secure a sea appointment after Dunkirk proved more
difficult than Walker had thought possible. The Battle of Britain was
fought and won largely within sight and hearing of his office at Dover
Castle; the threat of a German invasion provided a temporary outlet for
his restless mind as he played his role in preparing the South Coast’s
defences. Then came another and far more serious menace. The U-boats,
already individually successful, devised their “wolf pack” attacks and
massacred convoys left burning trails across the seas. The peril he had
planned for, and against which he had continuously warned at the
Anti-Submarine School, made him increasingly impatient with Dover as his
most responsible job in the war. With reports of increased losses at sea,
he began to bombard Admiral Ramsay and Their Lordships with pleas which
all rebounded with the curt, official reply: “Request not approved.” With every refusal, Walker became more
determined to get back to sea. Had there been no war, he would have been
content to remain a “passed over” commander. His principal source of joy
was Eilleen and the family; his needs were few, a comfortable home, a
garden and sufficient money to give the children a reasonable education.
But the moment Britain stood with her back to the sea wall, he impatiently
threw aside dreams of a semi-retired existence. This was understood and
shared by Eilleen who realised that any attempt to keep him at home would
be selfish. She was quietly prepared to let him find his own place in the
fight. When the shelling of Dover became fierce, his promise that their
fourth child should be brought up as a Catholic was remembered. In a
letter to his executors, he said: "Please note the fact that I wish my
third son, Andrew. to brought up and educated as a Roman Catholic. Please
ensure that this is done in the event of my death.” In March, 1941, he
travelled to London on leave and called at the Admiralty to see an old
friend, Captain George Creasy, of the then Director of Anti-Submarine
Warfare. Creasy was one of the few men who knew how badly the Battle of
the Atlantic was going, how serious were our losses and how necessary it
was to have the best men and equipment sent to Liverpool, the new
headquarters of the Western Approaches Command. He knew Walker as an
anti-submarine specialist: the fact that his friend had been passed over
meant only that he had merely suffered in the cut-throat competition for a
place on the pre war promotion list. Here was a man who should be usefully
employed in the grim struggle at sea.
He listened to Walker’s arguments for a sea command and ended the
interview by promising to do everything within his power. This was not too
great, but sufficient for him to be able to write a personal letter to the
Commander-in-Chief; Western Approaches, Admiral Sir Percy Noble, outlining
Walker’s qualifications and recommending a command.

It is inevitable in war that the customs of
peace often get kicked out of the window. If at this time the Admiralty
took a little longer to start kicking, it was only because its deeply
ingrained customs were fundamentally good ones. ‘We were losing more ships
than we could hope to build, and one of the first customs to suffer was
the practice of keeping “passed over” officers in subordinate positions.
Experienced officers, particularly those trained in anti-submarine
warfare, were in short supply, and an obscure department was ordered to
sift personnel. The process was slow but efficient, On receipt of Creasy’s
letter, Sir Percy Noble started the machine to have Walker transferred
from Dover to his own Command. In September, the Admiralty sent a signal
to Dover which ordered him to Liverpool to assume command of HMS Stork
for duties in the Atlantic under the Commander-in-Chief, Western
Approaches. The next few days were filled with contented excitement for
the Walker family. Ordinary Seaman Timothy had been selected as a
candidate for a commission in the RNVR and had been sent to an
officers’ training unit; Cadet Nicholas of Dartmouth had become Mr.
Midshipman Walker awaiting a sea posting; Gillian had another year at
school before she could fulfil her ambition to join the Wrens; and
Commander and Mrs. Walker handed in the lease of the house they had rented
at Dover for more than a year, waved farewell to less fortunate friends
who had to stay in a town still being bombed and under daily fire from the
long-range guns of Calais, and set off for separate destinations. Mrs.
Walker to her family at Hambledon, near Henley, and her husband to
Liverpool to take over his own ship and prepare her to meet the enemy
wherever he could be found. After months of office work at Dover, where
extensive minefields were relied upon to deny the Channel passage to
U-boats, bustling Liverpool presented an exciting, war-like contrast.

Operations Centre, HQ
Western Approaches, Derby House, Liverpool

This great seaport and front-line base of
our Atlantic operations teemed with industry as stevedores raced to unload
and load the stream of dirty, unpainted freighters; cranes clattered in
the docks while pneumatic drills throbbed in the repair yards; tugs
scurried urgently up and down the wide Mersey, their whistles bleating
anxiously; sleek destroyers, busy sloops and bouncy, brash corvettes
marched and counter marched along swept channels cleared by patient
mine-sweepers. Among the massive, smoke-blackened buildings lining the
waterfront was Derby
House, a comparatively new office block now transformed into the
headquarters of Admiral Sir Percy Noble who, little more than a year
before, had set up is Command to ensure the “safe and timely arrival of
our convoys”. When he arrived with his Chief of Staff; Commodore J. M.
Mansfield, and the Air Officer Commanding No. 19 Group of Coastal Command,
he had only the promise of ships and men. The Admiralty had scoured the
coasts and seas until the Western Approaches Command now controlled the
destinies of thousands of men sailing from Gibraltar to Murmansk, from New
York to the Channel. A vast headquarters organisation tracked each convoy
and Escort Group round the clock; the Intelligence Division intercepted
enemy wireless signals at sea to pin-point the positions of every known
U-boat; the Air Staff sent their aircraft along convoy routes to the PLE, Prudent
Limit of Endurance, of point at which they must turn back if remaining
fuel was to last out.
Into this organisation stepped Walker who at once found himself among
strangely-assorted bedfellows. It seemed that by design or accident all
the misfits of the Navy had congregated at Liverpool. Among his brother
officers were many of his own kind—”passed overs” who at some stage or
other had become red-tape rebels. But the vast majority were officers of
the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, week-end sailors churned out by the
recruiting machine often with inadequate training. The Royal Naval
Reserve, those independent merchant men who would become sore boils in big
ship wardrooms, somehow fitted in here by providing their expert
seamanship to balance the ignorance of the willing, but lamentably
“green”, RNVR A generous variety of these officers manned the ships of
the 3 Escort Group when Walker took command of His Majesty’s sloop, Stork,
and became to his surprise and delight the senior officer of the Group’s
nine ships which consisted in addition to Stork, of the sloop, Deptford,
and the corvettes, Rhododendron, Marigold, Convolvulus, Penstemon,
Gardenia, Samphire and Vetch.

Black Swan Class Sloop HMS
Stork

His
first job was to find out something about the eight commanding officers
serving under him, and try out the ships’ companies. All told, upwards of
five hundred men who had never before set eyes on each other had to become
a trained, well-knit team. This was the key to Walker’s personal plan; if
U-boats were to be destroyed, the hunters would have to become a team,
with himself as its playing manager. As the group left harbour bound for
working-up exercises, Walker was grimly determined that each of the
individualists astern of him would quickly learn that the 3 Group was to
be a unit welded in one cause—the destruction of the enemy. The working-up
routine had been skilfully devised by an expert in the art of driving both
officers and men mad in the least possible time. All day they carried out
anti-submarine and gunnery exercises; at night they sailed again to
protect imaginary convoys. When the sleepless days and nights had
stretched into weeks, and orders were given and obeyed automatically, they
were allowed one night at anchor. Tired out, the Group collapsed into
bunks and hammocks. But it was not to be.
In the early hours, the energetic senior officer of the training school
came alongside in a motor-boat. "Officer of the Day.” “Yes, Sir.’’
“You have been rammed forward, your stern is on fire and the enemy are
preparing to attack the anchorage. Get cracking.” Alarm bells rang and
they were at it again. By the middle of November, they were about as
trained as the brief course would allow. There was some co-operation
between ships—not much it is true, but some. There was no time for
anything more. Sir Percy needed every ship on the Atlantic runs. A few
days later, the Group returned to Liverpool and re ported ready for duty.
Walker himself was not entirely satisfied that they were. The course had
provided all concerned with an opportunity to get to know their
neighbours, and it had been possible to see how the commanding officers
handled their ships. It was also true that, when they took the field, he
could now confidently expect them to know in which direction to kick the
ball. But sadly, and quite understandably, they were not yet a team. He felt it urgent that every commanding
officer in the Group should know exactly what to do in any emergency; and
that every individual move should be related so that each ship was
operating to a set plan. He would have to make the plans, and his
team—when it became one—could then act accordingly. In fact, with a
minimum of reference back they would be doing what he wanted them to do
automatically and without waiting for orders. In the brief moments of
relaxation during exercises, he had drawn up a series of orders to his
captains which he called, “ Escort Group Operational Instructions”. They
were succinct, concise and, like Walker himself, direct:

(1) The object of the Group while on escort
duty is to ensure the safe and timely arrival of the convoy concerned. It
is not possible, with the ships available, to dispose of the Group in such
a way as to protect the convoy completely from enemy attacks—these must be
accepted and doubtless some losses. The only practicable course of action
is to ensure that any enemy craft, either surface or air, which attack are
destroyed.

(2) The particular aim of the Group therefore is to be taken as the
destruction of any enemy which attacks the convoy. U-boats are the chief
menace to our convoys. I cannot emphasise too strongly that a U-boat
sighted or otherwise detected is immediately to be attacked continuously
without further orders, with guns, depth charges and/ or ram until she has
been destroyed or until further orders are received.

(3) I wish to impress on all officers that,
although I shall naturally take charge of the majority of operations, I
consider it essential for themselves to act instantly without waiting for
orders in situations of which I may be unaware or imperfectly informed.

(4) It should seldom, if ever, be necessary
to conclude a signalled report with the words: “Request instructions.”
Action should be “proposed” or “intended” by the men on the spot—and the
senior officer can always say if he doesn’t like it.

(5) No officer will ever be blamed by me
for getting on with the job in hand.

A slight clash with Derby House arose over a
plan he had devised for dealing with U-boat attacks on a convoy at night.
Using the private family name for his wife, he termed the plan “OPERATION
BUTTERCUP”. This, in essence, called for turning night into day by a
generous use of every form of illuminant such as starshell and rockets.
“It is the practice of U-boats,” he said, “to attack our convoys at night,
operating, trimmed down on the surface. Once the enemy has located a
convoy several U-boats are likely to converge and attack at short
intervals. Experience shows that, after an attack. the U-boat will either
remain near the wreck of a torpedoed ship, or make off on the surface at
high speed to escape the attention of slower escorts. “OPERATION BUTTERCUP" is designed to force
the U-boat to dive by plastering the area round the wreck with depth
charges and by illuminating the most likely directions of his surface
escape. Once submerged, the destruction of the submarine is considerably
simplified. The object of OPERATION BUTTERCUP therefore is to destroy any
U Boat which has succeeded in attacking a convoy escorted by night by this
Group.” The technical method of carrying out this operation so impressed
the Operations Staff that a copy was shown to Sir Percy Noble. It was
basically sound, but the Commander-in- Chief instructed Walker to make
amendments to those clauses with which he did not entirely agree. Walker
obeyed with surprising meekness and in consequence the name “BUTTERCUP”,
hitherto reserved by the Walker family, was issued for the guidance of the
whole Western Approaches Command with the Derby House endorsement that the
Operation provided the maximum chance of sinking U-boats at night. Walker
had begun to make his presence felt in the battle. His presence had also been felt in the
sturdy little, peacetime- built Stork. Ships invariably take on the spirit
of their crews, a happy, efficient crew means a buoyant, reliable ship
which rarely sees the repair yard and answers willingly to any calls made
upon it; a discontented crew—which often means laxity and inefficiency—and
the ship is sluggish when she should be fast and ready for that tiny bit
extra when most needed. The difference conies from the top—the captain.
Stork had become a happy ship. Walker demanded a lot of his officers and
men, but he rarely interfered with his officers on the details of their
respective duties. His enthusiasm passed right down to the crew who became
increasingly aware of the vital role each man played in the fighting of
his ship. The men were keen and Stork was happy. She would behave well in
battle.

Towards the end of November, 1941, the 3 Group sailed from Liverpool to
take an outward-bound convoy to Gibraltar. This first trip, a test for
them all, was fortunate indeed. A series of heavy gales hit the convoy,
driving it into huge seas and howling winds which made it unlikely that
U-boats would be operating seriously on the surface. Walker grabbed the
chance to put his Group through a series of exercises, gunnery shoots and
depth-charge drills which impressed the convoy. By the time they arrived
in Gibraltar early the next month, he could congratulate himself on his
handling of the Group and feel confidence in their team efficiency. At a
meeting of commanding officers in his own ship he offered the toast:

“To the 36th Group and the total
destruction of the enemy.”

Next morning they were ordered to patrol the
Gibraltar Straits in an effort to hunt down U-boats on passage into the
Mediterranean where they were being employed in attacking Malta-bound
convoys and in escorting Axis supply ships carrying vital equipment to
Rommel in North Africa. These U-boats were making the passage so easily
and causing so much anxiety to the Mediterranean Fleet that Captain Creasy
was flown out from London to attend a series of conferences on the Rock.
One of the first decisions, in which Captain Creasy had not much faith,
was to maintain a hunting force inside the Straits and, to seaward, in the
approaches. The 36th Escort Group was awaiting further convoy duties, so
Walker received orders to carry out a series of anti-submarine patrols off
Gibraltar. They were a sorry failure. U-boats continued to pass into the
Mediterranean and, despite a week of patrolling, Walker and his Group
sighted not so much as a periscope, the only asdic echoes proving to be
fish. The Group was called back to harbour, where they refuelled and, on
December 14th sailed to join convoy
HG76 for the
voyage home to Liverpool. At a conference prior to sailing, Walker was
told: “The enemy has been cutting the Gibraltar convoys to shreds. This is
an important convoy and you will be re-enforced with ships of the
Gibraltar Command. You must arrive as intact as possible.” At the rendezvous outside Gibraltar, Walker
received as escort re-enforcements, the destroyers Blankney, Stanley and
Exmoor. In addition, the escort included H.M.S. Audacity, a former
merchant ship converted into a convoy aircraft-carrier. She had a small
flight deck and carried about half a dozen tiny Martlet naval fighters.
Their job was to patrol round the convoy, searching for surfaced U-boats
and to drive off inquisitive Focke-Wulfs, preferably before they had time
to work out and dispatch the convoy’s position to base. Audacity was the
first of this type of carrier to serve along the convoy routes. By dusk on
the 14th the convoy, consisting of thirty-two ships, had been sorted into
five columns and the escort had spread itself around them in two
thinly-held protective screens, one close to the convoy and the other
further away to act as scouts. Walker, in Stork, led the way ahead of the
convoy on a north-westerly course, only too well aware that it was just a
matter of time before they reached the battlefield and at last faced the
enemy.